The Swan by Rilke, Translated by Robert Bly
This clumsy living that moves lumbering
as if in ropes through what is not done,
reminds us of the awkward way the swan walks.
And to die, which is the letting go
of the ground we stand on and cling to every day,
is like the swan, when he nervously lets himself down into the water, which receives him gaily
and which flows joyfully under
and after him, wave after wave,
while the swan, unmoving and marvelously calm,
is pleased to be carried, each moment more fully grown, more like a king, further and further on.
I recently came upon this lovely poem at just the right moment; I was getting ready to write a farewell to a friend of mine who had just entered hospice. Being a doula has given me many tools for helping her on this part of her life’s journey; we’ve planned and talked for hours; we’ve watched movies and operas as she has reviewed her life through them, we’ve talked about the music she wants to hear as she dies. But I am her friend–not her doula–and the difference is obvious every day as I find myself with a swelling of emotions and memories. We have been friends for over 40 years of holidays, graduate school, joys and challenges with children, losses, and celebrations. Travel and endless cups of coffee and gallons of red wine. How does one say goodbye to that?
You say goodbye with Memories and Stories
The fortunate aspect of a death which takes some time is the gift of sharing memories and stories. Laughing over the crazy trip up North for a non-existent Smithsonian Quilt Show or the wacky gifts from the White Elephant Christmas tradition is priceless. The laughter from the sickroom, the necessary interruptions when the hospice nurse arrives, are poignant reminders of both our humanity and our mortality. Afternoons on end watching old movies seen 25 or 30 years ago, create new memories as family members join us and watch them for the first time with us.
Soon, her condition will worsen, and we won’t be able to do this anymore. This time has taught us to be in the moment, to treasure each one for as long as we have—right now.
You Say Goodbye with Gratitude
My friend was my best cheerleader. Her coming death has made me list the dozens of ways in which she supported me at various times of my life. Those long evenings when I was in graduate school and she was writing her dissertation, exhausted from a week of work and kids and school, we sat together in my living room and talked. Strong women figuring it all out, day by day. That is irreplaceable and I dread the time when her presence is no longer in my life. So, I tell her thanks for all she gave me and then sometimes when I leave, I sit in the car deeply grateful that I have had the chance to say these things.
You Say Goodbye with Love
When I visit her now, I tell her that I love her even though we’ve not done this before. Not many people get 40 years of friendship, but here is the magical thing. Even when she dies, she will be my friend, she will inspire and motivate and remind me that friendship is one of life’s deepest connectors, a thread of love over years and past death, a continuing gift.
Like the swan in Rilke’s poem, my friend is graciously letting go; she will soon leave this life in a death enriched by her sense of humor and passion for life and surrounded by the love of us all.
I think it might not get much better than that.